


Untitled HCL Snippety Bits

by sageness



Category: Canadian 6 Degrees, Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Canon - Movie, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Personal Canon Meme: the HCL edition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled HCL Snippety Bits

**Author's Note:**

> Malnpudl asked me to do the personal canon meme for Joe, Billy, John, and Pipe.

  


**Joe Dick.**

When Joe Dick was a star-struck 20-year-old punk, he ditched HCL in Buffalo and took a train to New York, where he camped out in CBGB's until he found Bucky Haight. Then he followed him home. He doesn't remember much about it. There was a constant flow of booze, a ton of pills, and he's pretty sure Bucky let someone else fuck him, but he doesn't know who. It ended when he realized the doped up groupie they were laughing at was him. Then he stole enough cash to get to Sudbury, hitched to Thunder Bay, and then had to call Billy to wire him a bus ticket. Billy laughed his ass off, but he did it.

They met in Grade 7, when Joe was just barely 12 and Billy was almost 14. Billy'd been held back on top of having an early birthday. Joe was the youngest in the grade, insecure about it, and, well, _twelve_. Billy was the bad boy his mother'd always warned him about, and for Joe, it was love at first sight.

The first time Billy molded Joe's hand around the neck of the guitar and placed his fingers in a C-chord, Joe got so hard, so fast he nearly passed out. The guitar hid it, but as soon as Billy went to the kitchen to get another Coke, Joe ran to the bathroom and jerked off with the fret-sore fingers of his left hand in his mouth.

  


**Billy Tallent.**

Billy was an accident. He has a brother ten years older that moved out when Billy was eight and a father he never saw. He worked oil rigs in the far north and sent some money home every month — enough to pay the rent on the basement apartment Billy and his mom shared and keep them in pocket money. It keeps Billy in guitar strings and pot, and his mom's job gives him all the free time he wants.

In LA, in 1992, Billy has a crappy pink apartment in a row of crappy pink, yellow, and blue apartments. They were all built in the 50s for starving actors, and the only good thing about it is they're high enough up on the hill to have a view. It's a smoggy view, but it's a view. Not that he sees all that much of it.

Billy says he hates being a studio drone but he really doesn't. The pay doesn't suck. Being inside studios with so much fucking _history_ rocks. And, stupid 22-year-old alternapop morons-of-the-week aside, he sometimes gets to work with some really amazing people. It's a fucking shame Joe doesn't give a shit, Billy thinks sometimes. But nothing beats getting paid to do what he loves and what he's good at. Not even Joe.

  


**John Oxenberger.**

John never didn't see things, but it didn't get bad til he was a teenager. And even then, they more or less wrote it off as too much pot making him hallucinate. Except without the pot he still saw things, and without the pot he couldn't calm down. Lithium helps. He likes lithium. It's happy-making, like a smooth, glassy harbor.

He gets stuck sometimes. Sometimes he plays the same chord progression for fourteen hours on end. Sometimes he walks in circles for hours. Then he falls down and can't remember where he is. Sometimes, in the middle of it, he remembers he has a girlfriend and that she's nice and can help push the red screaming tumble away, so he can breathe.

Sometimes words dance over his skin and land on the pages of his notebook. It's pretty cool.

  


**Pipefitter.**

Pipe has a fucking brain, dude. None of the guys think he does, but he totally knows the score. Thing is, that shit ain't worth thinking about, man, because honestly, who wants to be that depressed all the time? Life sucks enough as it is, right?

He blacked out fourteen times trying to have sex on poppers and come before the high passed, but not come too soon. He never did get the motherfucking timing right.

You know, so what if he does end up a garbage man, anyway? At least that's paying your own rent instead of getting locked up in some fucking provincial psychiatric hospital letting the goddamned tax-payers foot the bill for you to write all over the walls in crayon. Fuck John anyway.


End file.
